Contamination: Dead Instinct (Contamination Post-Apocalyptic Zombie Series) (15 page)

An RV had pushed aside some of the traffic, as if it'd been trying to get through the gridlock. He broke into the opening, using the open space to gain momentum. A few creatures hurtled at him from the front, but he changed course, avoiding them with inches to spare.
 

He kept the next exit ramp in his sights, thinking that if he could reach the city, he'd find a place to take cover. The exit was about a half mile away.
 

Ken kept running. His bones shook from the thud of his feet on pavement, and his wind was almost gone. The green exit sign clung to the horizon, as if it were a mirage he'd concocted. More bodies tumbled over the median in front of him, cutting off his path.

Dammit.

He stopped short, ducking to avoid a lunging body, and looked behind him.

The road was swarmed. It was as if a volcano had erupted beneath the interstate, sending a mound of writhing bodies to the surface. There was no way he'd make it to the exit. Not now.

He raised his pistol and squeezed off a few rounds, warding off the creatures closest to him, delaying the inevitable. He stared at the RV he'd just passed, which was fifty feet away. If he could double back to it, maybe he could find his way inside.

Even then, it'd only be a matter of time until the things overtook him.

A creature flew at him from his left, and he eluded it. Would it be easier to give in? To succumb to the reaching hands that awaited him? Maybe it was time for the nightmare to end. In the four days and hundreds of miles he'd traveled, things hadn't gotten any better. He'd lost his wife. His faith. His sanity. And Phoenix wasn't looking any better.
 

There was little chance he'd find his son.
 

Another thing approached him from behind, and he spun and shot it in the head, watching it collapse. Ken stared at the gun, contemplating thoughts he never thought he'd have. Then he stared at the RV.

Isaac stared out the window as he drove toward the interstate.

Past the sidewalk was a coffee shop where he'd once worked. The display window was shattered, the contents strewn about the sidewalk. He'd been a barista there for several months, right after he'd moved. The café was only a few minutes from the highway. Normally it was filled with both city dwellers and passing commuters.
 

Now it was empty.

He stared inside as he drove by. He wondered how many of his old coworkers had still been employed there when the infection hit. He hadn't kept in touch with any of them, but he felt a sudden sense of loss at their absence.

He tried to remember their faces but drew a blank. They were nothing more than blurred faces in his past, details he couldn't recreate.

There were a lot of things like that now.

It'd only been a few days since the city had fallen, but already Isaac was forgetting the routines of his old life—things he'd once taken for granted. How easy it had been to grab a decent meal. How safe it had been to walk down the street. All that seemed years behind him.
 

Now, it was impossible to drive without roaming, sadistic creatures trying to impede your path.

His eyes flicked to the roadside. A sign sprung from the sidewalk, announcing the upcoming turn for I-17 North. He'd already seen a line of cars that hadn't quite made it, others who had taken the same path he was now embarking on. What made him think he'd be any different?

He studied the path ahead. Once he took it, Isaac was positive he wouldn't return. But there was nothing left for him here. Taking the highway would bring him one step closer to whatever was waiting for him.
 

Although the road was clogged, he could see an opening in the breakdown lane. It was thin and bordered on one side by a guardrail, but by the looks of it, just wide enough to squeeze through. He glanced down at the gas gauge. In the frenzy of the moment, he hadn't thought to check it.

The tank was full.

If omens were real, perhaps some higher power was giving him one now. Isaac swallowed back his fear and then turned onto the interstate, heading into the unknown.

Squeezing past the vehicles was nerve-wracking. Several times Isaac heard the bumper scrape against another vehicle, and the noise was loud and grating. The vehicles on the on-ramp were similar to those in the city—almost all of them held a body, and most of the bodies had already started to decompose. He assumed the rush to leave had occurred close to the beginning of the infection. Most of the bodies seemed like they'd been there awhile.

He remembered peering out his window and watching people leave. Although his instinct had been to flee, he'd remained inside. It had been easy to make that decision when he'd seen what had happened to the other survivors. And now he might be one of the only ones left.
 

The last of the few.

The car groaned as he squeezed past a minivan. He glanced at the road behind him, certain he'd draw the attention of creatures, but saw nothing. He hoped to God he didn't damage the vehicle. He supposed he could get another, but at the moment, the prospect of getting out of the car scared him more than the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

He followed the curves, circling around until the ramp became a straightaway. Within minutes he'd made it onto the highway.
 

The six-lane interstate, although cluttered, seemed navigable. He noticed a straightaway in the distance, and he steered toward it, grateful for a moment's reprieve.

It was then he heard gunshots. He stared ahead of him.
 

A swarm of creatures had appeared in the distance, fanning out over the highway, tumbling over cars and jumping over the median.
What the fuck?

Isaac's panic mounted.

He slowed the vehicle, squinting to ascertain what was going on. Just minutes ago, he'd been certain his only companions on the road would be bodies and the infected.
 

Now it looked like there was another survivor.

About a quarter mile away, he spotted an RV in the center of the commotion, a man standing on the top. The man was firing at the infected, trying to prevent them from scrambling up the side. Although Isaac couldn't make out the details, it was evident the man was trapped.
 

There was no way he'd survive for long.

Isaac's pulse hammered. His hands blanched on the steering wheel. He'd rolled the car to a stop, and he was staring at the man with the same sinking feeling he'd had looking out his apartment window. He'd tried to help others—he'd tried to help Kate—and look what had happened. If he were to drive down the highway, he'd immediately be surrounded, immersed in the scene. Past the RV, he could now see that the road was barricaded again, with no way around.
 

He'd come this far for nothing.

Isaac gritted his teeth, his foot hovering over the brake pedal. He looked in the rearview mirror. The on-ramp was still cluttered with cars—the ones he'd driven past just minutes ago. Another meaningless task he'd completed.

In the distance, the man cast aside the gun he'd been using and withdrew a rifle from his backpack. From what Isaac could tell, the survivor hadn't seen him. Isaac could turn the vehicle around, squeeze his way past the cars and drive back into the city, find another way out. The man would never know he'd been there.

The creatures pawed at the side of the RV, leaping into the air to get a handhold. The man darted to one of the edges. It looked like he'd climbed up using a ladder, and now several of the things were making their way up the rungs.

Who was to say the man wasn't dangerous, anyway? Perhaps he'd be as cold and uncaring as Scotty, or Jimmy, or Spencer had been. What if Isaac died trying to save him?

Isaac took his foot off the brake. Out of nowhere, he pictured himself in the trunk of the Buick, trapped and waiting to die. He'd been certain he was living his final moments. Was that the way this man felt now?
 

Isaac couldn't abandon him. Not while he was in a position to help.
 

He bit his lip and then gunned the accelerator, hoping it wasn't the last decision he'd make.

Ken was almost out of ammunition. He'd already expended the spare clips for his pistol, and he'd switched to using his rifle. But the creatures kept coming from all directions. Every time he fought one back, another emerged to take its place, as if the things were part of a bottomless army that he could never defeat.
 

Rather than shooting, he'd switched tactics, using the butt-end of his rifle to knock them off the ladder. His arms and legs were sapped of strength. He'd barely made it to the RV in the first place, and now that he was here, he was watching his worst fears come to life. There was no way to ward off the things, no way to dissuade them from attacking.
 

They'd keep coming, no matter what he did.

It didn't help that the doors to the RV had been locked. When he'd reached it, there'd been no way inside; as a last resort, he'd climbed up the ladder. Being on the roof only added to his torment. He was destined to die with his son's city in sight, the prospect of Isaac and the fulfillment of his mission only an arm's length away.

A ratty, long-haired creature hissed at him from the middle rungs of the ladder. He waited until it had climbed further, then stomped on its face, sending it toppling back on three others. He could hear the slap of mottled hands on all sides of the RV, and the vehicle felt like it was swaying.
 

A pair of fingers appeared on the right side of the vehicle, and Ken raced over to stomp them off. The creatures were unwittingly piling on top of one another, and some of their groping was paying off. It was only a matter of time until they made it onto the roof.
 

He dashed back to the ladder. His heart was racing, and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. Ken was surprised he hadn't died from natural causes already. He'd seen—and taken part in—enough violence to last a lifetime, and he couldn't handle much more.

Maybe his time had come.
 

He thought of Roberta. Not of the frail, dirt-covered body that he'd buried, but the woman who'd been so full of life that she'd made his own worth living. Then he thought of his son, regretting that he'd never be able to see him again.
 

Ken watched a few pairs of hands cling to the edge of the RV, but this time, instead of rushing to kick them off, he remained still. It was as if the events of the last week had culminated in this moment, and now that it was here, Ken would make peace with it.

He might not be able to control his fate, or the manner in which he died, but he could control the thoughts he had on the way out. He wouldn't give his last moments to the creatures; he'd give them to his family. They could have his body, but that was it.

I'm sorry, Isaac.

One of the things made its way onto the roof, but he ignored it. The thing snarled and clawed the air, but he paid no attention, alternating his gaze between the picture in his hand and the buildings in the distance.

A rumble jolted him to attention. A car was barreling down the highway.

At first he thought he was imagining things, and he wiped his eyes, certain he was mistaken. But the image persisted. The car was really there. A white vehicle was coming straight toward the RV, its engine growling.
 

The creature on the roof ambled toward Ken, but this time, instead of ignoring it, he raised his rifle and fired, sending it tumbling off the side. He raced back to the ladder, warding off another thing with his boot, keeping his eye on the approaching vehicle.
 

"Up here!" he shouted, waving his arms.

He couldn't see the driver, but it looked like there was a single occupant. Ken shouted again, as if the person might miss him, even though they were headed in his direction. The vehicle turned sideways, exposing an opened passenger's side window.

Ken stared inside the car, catching a glimpse of the person inside. What he saw made his hands tremble on the rifle and his voice lodge in his throat.

Staring back at him was Isaac.